Fifty Sentences of Quirrellmort
by TragicBlackButterfly
Summary: Fifty Sentence OTP Challenge involving Voldemort and Quirrell. Words were chosen by a random generator. Based on the characters from A Very Potter Musical by Team Starkid. Quirrellmort/Quirrelmort. Let me know if you catch any of the references!
1. Fifty Sentences of Quirrellmort

**1\. Hello**

Voldemort knew the very moment he was screwed: when his eyes locked with Quirrell's, and the graveyard and his Death Eaters disappeared, and Quirrell just beamed at him as they greeted each other for the first time.

 **2\. Injury**

"It's just a scratch, you're not dying," Quirrell promised, trying not to snicker, as Voldemort swore up and down that the cat scratches would be the death of him.

 **3\. Recipient**

As much as Voldemort liked receiving pleasure, he loved the way Quirrell's eyes rolled and the strangled gasps as he tried to contain his voice when Voldemort touched him _just so_.

 **4\. Stereotype**

One might believe that Voldemort, whose reputation preceded him, had the horrid temper, but he would claim otherwise; the former Dark Lord knew better than anyone not to get on the bad side of his partner, whose gentle smiles and love for flowers did not necessarily mean that he did not possess thorns of his own.

 **5\. Initialization**

At the start of their relationship, nothing would turn Voldemort on more than when his shy Squirrel, teeth sinking into his lower lip and cheeks flushed, would press against him and fumble over the buttons of his shirt.

 **6\. Ambiguity**

Quirrell didn't want to question what exactly it was the two of them had and started dreading the day that Voldemort try to define it.

 **7\. Class**

"Stupid first years," Voldemort grumbled underneath the stuffy turban as he suffered through one of Quirrell's horrendous classes, while the stuttering professor tried his best not to snicker.

 **8\. Breathing**

Gasps filled their room as they fell to the bed, all tangled limbs and body fluids and _Wizard God, do that again_.

 **9\. Saving**

Quirrell swore that even the Dark Lord could be redeemed, and he didn't rest until Voldemort understood that as well.

 **10\. Monster**

Voldemort spend his whole life trying to be menacing and terrifying, to make a name for himself as the Dark Lord, but it wasn't until he saw the expression on Quirrell's face as he was dragged off to Azkaban that Voldemort first hated what he was.

 **11\. Key**

"We could just use our wands to get in, Voldemort," Quirrell sighed, shamelessly amused as Voldemort dug around in his pocket; "No, Quirrell, we will do this the _Muggle way_ , now help me find the spare!"

 **12\. Fighting**

In every battle he'd ever been in, the stakes were never as high as when Voldemort and Quirrell went at it; in a war of love, even the simplest disagreements could result in a farewell, and Voldemort would sooner admit defeat than risk losing his Squirrel.

 **13\. Pressing**

Sandwiched between the bookcase and Voldemort's insistent body, Quirrell decided to give the library a whole new meaning; "let's see how quiet you can be," he dared with a roll of his hips and a devilish grin.

 **14\. Indication**

Any doubt and fears were erased when Quirrell finally grasped the significance of Voldemort's extended touches and lingering hugs.

 **15\. Invisible**

Quirrell had been invisible for all his life, always hidden in his books and daydreaming about how he would spend his life; one can imagine his surprise when the first person to finally see him was a parasite with ulterior motives.

 **16\. Enough**

"Why would I need to rule the world when I have you," Voldemort murmured against Quirrell's brow, coming to terms with his own words even as he spoke them.

 **17\. Lovely**

Voldemort grumbled about Quirrell's flowers up to the day when the latter revealed his garden; seeing Quirrell's smiling face, he finally understood the meaning of the word _beautiful_.

 **18\. Discard**

No words could describe how Quirrell felt, curled up in his Azkaban cell and crying over being thrown away by the only person he cared about; the Dementors never had to lift a finger.

 **19\. Paradise**

The first time they made love, all awkward and nervous laughs, Voldemort knew he'd found heaven on earth; each time after that only reaffirmed the idea.

 **20\. Patient**

"Everything has its place," Voldemort muttered through gritted teeth as Quirrell, distracted by his book, stretched his legs over a pile of clothes he'd forgotten to fold.

 **21\. Servant**

Soon after his plans were in place, Voldemort forgot that Quirrell was supposed to be his peon and started seeing the nervous man as something much more.

 **22\. Extension**

They were a part of each other, despite no longer being attached, and the two sometimes forgot where one of them ended and the other began.

 **23\. Disaster**

Voldemort's greatest mistake was letting Quirrell get sent to Azkaban; he realized this too late, when victory didn't taste as sweet as it should have, and would have had Quirrell been with him.

 **24\. Normal**

Quirrell loved watching Voldemort's failing attempts at a Muggle life; it wasn't until he flooded the house trying to fix the toilet that Quirrell figured it was time to break the wands back out.

 **25\. Drama**

Voldemort would deny it, but he never missed an episode of _Doctor Sexy, MD_ ; Wizard God help poor Quirrell if he accidentally interrupted.

 **26\. Movie**

 _She's All That_ , they decided, was a much better film when they could watch it hand-in-hand instead of back-to-back.

 **27\. Insertion**

"Are you okay," Voldemort asked, breathless and husky; "Wonderful," Quirrell purred, urging his lover on with a thrust of his hips.

 **28\. Laziness**

Voldemort never wanted to get up in the morning, not when his limbs were all heavy and his eyes just couldn't stay open; Quirrell learned the easiest way to get him out of bed was with a strong cup of coffee and the promise of breakfast.

 **29\. Score**

"Ten points to Quirrell," he awarded when he, at last, managed to render Voldemort speechless.

 **30\. Willing**

They never cared who topped and who bottomed when they tumbled into bed; Voldemort, in fact, liked it when Quirrell took initiative and fucked him senseless every now and then.

 **31\. Shirt**

Voldemort would never admit it (and he would sneer and hiss if one were to ask) but he secretly enjoyed it when Quirrell left his clothes lying around sometimes; he would breath in the crisp smell of cotton mixed with flowers and parchment and fall for his partner all over again.

 **32\. Close**

They slept backs pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, it didn't matter to them—as long as the space between them was as scarce as possible.

 **33\. Schedule**

Voldemort tried not to think about how things were going according to plan because having his own body back meant separation from Quirrell, and was Potter even worth it anymore?

 **34\. Practice**

He didn't care how much Quirrell urged him on, Voldemort would _never_ get the hang of rollerblading.

 **35\. Assured**

"I forgive you, Voldemort," Quirrell promised soothingly, as sincere as he'd been the last few times they had this conversation, with the hope that Voldemort might believe him one day.

 **36\. Departure**

Quirrell tried to keep his head high as they dragged him from the graveyard, and he didn't look back; if he had, he would have seen a tormented Voldemort watching him leave, and he might have fought just a little harder to get back to his Dark Lord's side.

 **37\. Knocking**

They tried to sleep apart their first night with their own bodies; not long into the night, Quirrell opened up his door to Voldemort, and they never tried to sleep separately again.

 **38\. Seriousness**

"We can't pass out _those_ ," Voldemort deadpanned the moment he saw what Quirrell wanted to buy for Halloween; he tossed the bag of _Snickers_ onto the shelf, and they never spoke of it again.

 **39\. Music**

Quirrell didn't understand why Voldemort insisted on having a radio until he came home one night to find his lover dancing around the kitchen with the mop.

 **40\. Appreciation**

"I never thanked you for letting me come home," Voldemort started, but Quirrell silenced him with a sweet kiss and replied, "I never thanked you for coming home."

 **41\. Gravitation**

Voldemort and Quirrell never realized it, but every hasty decision, every careful plan, all existed to bring them one step closer to each other.

 **42\. Waking**

Voldemort hated when Quirrell got up before him, and sometimes, just to be an ass about it, he would wrap his arms around Quirrell's waist and drag him back into the mattress with him.

 **43\. Protest**

"Don't you dare," Quirrell gasped, trying to tend to his flowers, but Voldemort's hand under his waistband and tongue at his neck soon had him begging " _don't you dare stop_."

 **44\. Halloween**

"So who will I be if you're Boba Fett," Quirrell humored until Voldemort produced the skimpy costume and, smirking, suggested, "Slave Leia."

 **45\. Confidence**

Every shred of assurance left him the moment Quirrell's brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity, but he wasn't backing out now; so he dropped to one knee and presented the box, only releasing the breath he held when he saw Quirrell's priceless smile.

 **46\. Kicking**

The bedroom door just _wouldn't open_ and Quirrell's hands were _everywhere_ , so Voldemort used his foot before they both ended up tumbling down the stairs.

 **47\. Admission**

"I love you," Voldemort whispered into Quirrell's hair as his soulmate slept; "I know," Quirrell mumbled and sleepily held him tighter.

 **48\. Fire**

"Fuck," he groaned when warm, frenzied kisses and blazing touches finally ended with him fully seated in his partner, the hot breath on his neck as dizzying as the heat he pressed into.

 **49\. Depression**

"It's over," Voldemort despaired when Quirrell questioned his moping; after a little more prodding, he finally added, " _Doctor Sexy, MD_ is over!"

 **50\. Separate**

They both thought that they would miss being attached, but they were wrong, for the things they could do with two different bodies far outweighed Voldemort being stuck to the back of Quirrell's head.


	2. Fifty More Sentences of Quirrellmort

**Smile**

Quirrell loved to watch Voldemort's facial expressions relax and change when he didn't think he was being observed and even more so when he knew; Voldemort's lips had a certain way of quirking at the corners whenever he met Quirrell's gaze, and that, Quirrell decided, was wonderful.

 **Apology**

No matter how many times Voldemort told Quirrell that he was sorry for sending him to Azkaban, his burden always seemed to feel heavier, suffocating him until Quirrell would reach out and grasp his hand.

 **Smoke**

Their relationship sometimes felt so ephemeral that Voldemort worried one day Quirrell himself might slip through his very fingers like fog on a chilly morning.

 **Confront**

"I think we need to talk about this," informed a stiff Quirrell while holding up a broken flower pot to a horrified Voldemort, who tried his best to stifle his laughter.

 **Limit**

"Please," Quirrell begged, tears in his eyes, relief _so close_ only for Voldemort's hand to still once more, a ruthless and taunting smirk on his lips that he once used on countless enemies and now showed only to his writhing boyfriend when he yearned for release.

 **Wonder**

Some people would gaze up at the stars and try to figure out what shapes they could discern or seek the greatest mysteries of the universe; Voldemort would gaze at Quirrell and try to figure out why the hell he decided to stay with him.

 **Connected**

The first time Quirrell felt Voldemort on the back of his head, he nearly panicked, yet not out of fear or horror or repulsion; his life had been spent in solitude, and he suddenly realized he could get used to never being alone again.

 **Scream**

The prisoners in Azkaban were all mad; they pulled at their hair, tore at their close, and shrieked their suffering to the stone ceiling dripping with musty water, and even though Quirrell still had all of his mental faculties, he couldn't keep himself from crying out as well.

 **Evil**

"That's just wrong," muttered Quirrell when, upon discovering that Voldemort had taken it upon himself to clean their closet, he learned that he could not locate a single article of his own clothing.

 **Jealousy**

Voldemort would never admit it (and he would curse you if you ever tried to make him) but he felt a quiet, white rage when he thought Quirrell might be gazing far too fondly at some of his flowers.

 **Cold**

The moment Quirrell looked at him after learning the truth, the lies, the deceit, gooseflesh rose up the back of Voldemort's neck and down his arms, and he wondered if he would ever find a way to remove the ice from his veins.

 **Moan**

"That really isn't necessary," Voldemort grumbled as Quirrell intimately acquainted himself with a _Snickers_ bar, his exaggerated groans of pleasure the perfect payback for Voldemort breaking his potted plant.

 **Hell**

For Quirrell and Voldemort, while one tried to rule the world and the other rotted in the unforgiving Azkaban, they learned the hard way that the absence of each other was more torturous than any fiery abyss a devil or demon could conjure.

 **Precision**

Voldemort knew the exact amount of pressure to place upon his followers, his enemies, his victims to break them into submission, but he never expected to find someone who could do the very same to him.

 **Articulate**

Voldemort's favorite days were when Quirrell was comfortable enough around him to relax; he longed to hear Quirrell speak without stuttering as the fluidity and eloquence of his words could steal the breath of even the Dark Lord.

 **Storm**

"The news called for rain," Quirrell strictly reminded as he lit another candle to illuminate the dark house, his eyes narrowed at Voldemort, who had tried in vain to creep, wand in hand, toward the window to quell the squall depriving them of electricity.

 **Squirm**

Quirrell rolled over once, then again, and again, and his determination to sleep on his own was worn down by his sheer exhaustion; grumbling incoherently, he gave up and aligned his back with Voldemort's, knowing full well he would owe his boyfriend five sickles in the morning.

 **Hesitant**

Voldemort saw him lying there, his body curled with grief and his hands covering his head, and he almost ran away on the spot; he somehow managed to take a breath, steel himself, and find the strength to whisper, "Hey, you."

 **Rage**

Quirrell's fury was a tempest as cold and cruel as the sea raging around Azkaban, but the moment he saw the man he thought to be dead, whose red eyes gleamed with more fear than Quirrell thought him capable of, he realized he'd already forgiven him.

 **Vulnerable**

Quirrell had never seen the former Dark Lord so susceptible, so defenseless as he did just then, panting beneath him with swollen lips and a fear in his eyes that begged Quirrell to _do something_ ; he took pity on his former master and quelled that fear with a kiss from his mouth and a roll of his hips.

 **Strong**

Quirrell's whole body shook, from the tip of his head down to his toes, but he still held his chin high as the Death Eaters marched him directly into the chilling, boney, cruel arms of the Dementors.

 **Plants**

"We're going to run out of room," grumbled an irritable and stuffy-nosed Voldemort as Quirrell, eyes wide with wonder and excitement, dragged yet another ceramic pot overflowing with greenery into their home, but he would never have the heart to tell his Squirrel no.

 **Survive**

Voldemort didn't know what had happened or how he managed to still be there after the Potter boy destroyed him; he could only think one thing with absolute certainty: he had to find Quirrell.

 **Parallel**

"This is good," said a sleepy Voldemort as he settled into bed with Quirrell for the first time since their separation, satisfied to feel all of Quirrell's body tucked up behind his, "this is _wonderful_."

 **Midnight**

The moon cast a pallor across Voldemort's back, making his already pale skin even more ghostlike, but Quirrell still looked up into his eyes and whispered, "Beautiful."

 **Morning**

Voldemort would have scowled at the brilliant sunlight if not for the way the beams glistened on Quirrell's smiling face as he held out a fresh cup of coffee.

 **Pleasure**

Quirrell desirously moaned, his eyes rolling back, and Voldemort laughed, "If this is how you're going to react, I'll cook for you more often."

 **Candles**

The storm still raged, causing the house to tremble from time to time from the wind's violence, but Voldemort hardly took notice; the room smelled of vanilla and sweat, and he, entirely spent, could do nothing more than watch the flickering of firelight along Quirrell's bare back.

 **Staircase**

Sometimes, even the strangest of places became the most convenient, and even the hardwood steps could feel as soft as a bed when Quirrell kissed the right spot on Voldemort's neck; they still couldn't locate some of their socks.

 **Broken**

"There's something horribly wrong with me," Voldemort moaned, his nose stuffed, his voice raspier than usual, and he assumed the end was nigh, even when Quirrell assured him he'd just acquired the common cold.

 **Soup**

A very sick Voldemort determined, as Quirrell pressed another full spoon to his lips, that Muggles had their own form of torture, and it came in the flavor of chicken and noodles.

 **Push**

Voldemort's back hit the wall, and he stared, stunned, at the man who had put him there; Quirrell glowered at him, furiously trembling, and forced through gritted teeth, "It's okay to stop blaming yourself."

 **Grass**

His knees would be green for a week, but it was worth seeing Quirrell writhe underneath him beside those plants he loved so much.

 **Wrong**

Her touch was strange, erroneous, and it wasn't until Voldemort pressed his back against hers and imagined somebody else that he could stand the feel of her.

 **Right**

"Yes," Voldemort whispered dreamily, his fingers clutching those of the man behind him, whose back he no longer had to imagine pressed against his own, and all was finally proper in the world again.

 **Home**

"So you came back," exclaimed Quirrell, so outraged and so hopeful, and Voldemort knew he would never belong anywhere more than with the man standing in front of him.

 **Asset**

If somebody had told him that choosing to attach himself to Quirinus Quirrell would turn out to be the best decision he could ever make, Voldemort would have laughed at the ignorance, the audacity… and then picked him anyways.

 **Couple**

"I was going to introduce you as my boyfriend, if that's all right with you," said Quirrell as he adjusted his tie for dinner with his parents, and Voldemort felt his throat tighten with more emotion than he knew how to handle; "Y-yeah, that's okay," he managed to reply, his heart prepared to scream the word from the rooftops, and Quirrell's knowing smile betrayed that he felt just the same.

 **Drunk**

Their laughter mingled, their joint body tripping over itself as Quirrell and Voldemort stumbled away from Hogsmeade and toward Hogwarts, their inebriated minds focused not so much on evil plans but, instead, on each other.

 **Intense**

 _Too much, it's too much_ , Voldemort thought the moment he realized how he felt about Quirrell, and the overwhelming emotions were _almost_ enough to make him run out of fear for his heart.

 **Betrayal**

" _I never saw that coming_ ," Voldemort whispered, appalled and horrified and quite tearful, and Quirrell, who suspected Hans right from the very beginning, could only silently laugh and rub his boyfriend's back.

 **Adoption**

"She's going to love you," promised Voldemort, chuckling as Quirrell paced back and forth in front of him; Quirrell paused, turning to face him, and smiled brighter than the sun as he said, "She's going to love you, too."

 **Performance**

Voldemort always knew how to put on a good show—he'd been dancing his whole life and knew precisely how to command a crowd—but for the first time ever, as he listened to Potter and the spare boy ogle his dead father's grave and to Quirrell's anxious and excited breathing, he wished the curtain didn't have to close.

 **Weak**

Wang Mu blinked up at Voldemort with all the manipulative innocence of a child, and Voldemort caved on the spot; after all, _one_ _Snickers bar_ wouldn't irreparably damage her upbringing… right?

 **Harsh**

Whenever they fought—and, boy, did they fight sometimes—words would fly like killing curses, attempting to inflict as much injury as possible, which led to rough kisses, all teeth and tongue, and soon they couldn't remember what they were arguing about in the first place.

 **Thought**

Voldemort had everything he could ever want—his death eaters, Cornelius Fudge dead at his feet, and Bellatrix's hands roaming over his chest—yet his mind kept returning to a mousy man who loved flowers.

 **Sweat**

Quirrell was sticky, and Voldemort was sticky, and their chests rose and fell with exhaustion, and their eyelids drooped until—"Again," whispered one of them, or maybe both of them, and their damp limbs tangled once more as naturally as breathing.

 **Mastermind**

"You got beat by a two-year-old," Quirrell reminded when Voldemort tried, vehemently, to swear that his evil plans never failed.

 **Temporary**

He wouldn't be here long, Quirrell tried to reason with himself, but as the days stretched on the nights stretched longer, he couldn't stem the fear that Voldemort would not be coming for him.

 **Define**

Quirrell's question hung in the air, causing Voldemort to look up with hope and wonder at the man standing before him, who planned to forgive him despite the lies, despite the deceit, and he could only think of one way to tell Quirrell exactly what _okay_ was.


End file.
